Into The Jungle
by Juliet'sEmoPhase
Summary: Quidditch has evolved and Potter & Malfoy are the new super-star duo of the sport. Draco still has some lingering issues he needs to work out with his partner though. Post-Hogwarts, non-epilogue compliant. MOSTLY SMUT. Birthday Present!


Author's Note 24-07-15: This is a birthday present for the fabulous Sarah (aka drarry-queen) who is a total doll and I hope she likes it.

This story is based heavily on the artwork of the outrageously talented Alex Malfoy, so if you go over to my Tumblr for nothing else, PLEASE go check out the piece that prompted this, because you'll be so happy you did!

My Tumblr URL is also julietsemophase, and you can find the original artwork (i.e. not my montage) for this story, as well as all the others, on my main page under "My FanFictions". You will also find a link to the song that co-inspired this story "Jungle" by X Ambassadors, and you should definitely listen to that too!

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Into The Jungle

After a war such as they had seen, it was no wonder the people began to crave something…more…from their entertainment. The wizarding world was raw and feral, licking its wounds as they buried their dead and tried their guilty. The people were furious, looking for a place they could channel their grief and frustration, looking for heroes and villains they could build up and tear down. They were no longer content with the tame nature of Quidditch or even its more explosive cousin Quadpot.

They wanted blood.

There had been resistance at first, but sport in the air was twisting and changing before the Ministry's eyes, illicit games springing up in the dead of night to baying crowds thirsty for thrills and spills. Before long they had no choice but to make Fireball legal.

Two Flyers would face a dozen Beaters armed with as many Bludgers they could control, and maybe a few more they couldn't. The Quad would have the traditional time limit, but in this new breed of sport it wouldn't just surprise the Flyer with a puff of smoke; when it detonated, it did so with brutal force. There was no longer a snitch. There were no safety nets. The only spells forbidden were Unforgivables.

Many pro-stars of Quidditch switched up their skill sets in order to qualify for a Tag-Team or a Bludger-Squad, but no matter how much of a household name their carriers so far had made them, they had no hope but to pale in comparison against the newest pair on the scene.

It could be argued there were no two others with more infamous a reputation, more talent, or most importantly, with more bloodlust in their hearts to fight back against the world that had tried to make them victims.

It had tried. It had not succeeded.

Harry Potter. Draco Malfoy. Boys that had emerged like phoenixes from the ashes of Hogwarts, had risen as men, in control finally of their own destinies. Their once childish rivalry now fuelled an awe-inducing might that left opposing teams trembling. As ruthless as they were efficient, the people were never quite sure if the Bludgers would be responsible for leaving either of them motionless on the pitch floor…or if they would do it to each other.

Draco lived for the roar and snarl of the crowd as he stood before the first whistle, broom across his shoulders, arms raised, basking in their deluge of sound. He and Potter would always stand back to back as the countless camera flashes blinded them and the commentator cried out their latest triumphs or lamented the victims of their most recent take-down.

Draco would curl his lip and give the people the come-on wave, like any of those bastards could take him. They liked to boo and paint him as the villain still, but he knew full well that most people wanted to fuck him or be him. So let them boo, he would hiss and spit back like he had the devil in his eye. He would scare them, and it was electrifying.

If only he didn't have to deal with Potter and his fucking shenanigans. If only he didn't find himself storming into the locker rooms after almost fucking match in a seething rage after the latest shit he'd pulled.

He would never announce himself other than to storm through the doors, ripping his shoulder pads away so he was clad only in his leather capris and boots, skin slick with sweat and breath ragged from the game and the incensing press conference that always followed. The two of them inevitably had to suffer more questions from the paddock because they were the favourites, making Draco's blood boil as his post-match high itched at his skin. The only upside to this was that it almost certainly meant that he and Potter were alone to sort out their differences in the empty changing rooms, everyone else having already left.

He slammed the other man into the lockers, loving how the metal doors rang in a satisfying chorus. "What the _fuck_ was that, Potter?" he snarled, inches away from his partner's face.

Potter, infuriatingly, just smiled. This was nothing new, but somehow it always succeeded in getting a rise out of Draco. "Winning, what did it look like?"

Draco crowded him further, his chest heaving up and down so it almost touched Potter's bare skin. "By dragging us both off our brooms? By breaking my arm? By hurtling yourself several dozen feet to the ground just so you can steal all the glory, even when you're not conscious enough to appreciate it?"

Potter just smirked and looked up the couple of inches between them through thick, dark lashes. "You love it," he said calmly.

"I love my iron-clad contract," Draco hissed back venomously. "I love my mansions and my clubhouse memberships. I love VIP entrances and carte-blanche shopping privileges. I love being richer than all fuck Potter, and I don't intend on giving it up any time soon."

Potter shifted slightly under his grip. "And do you really think you would have all that without me? Without my name and my daredevil antics?" His gaze dropped with his voice. "Without my _name?"_

Draco growled and slammed him back again, forcing Potter to look back into his eyes. "Fuck you," he snarled.

Potter ran his hand through his damp hair and feigned checking his watch. "That is sort of what I'm waiting on here."

The rage flared through Draco's chest as he brought his mouth crashing down onto Potter's, pinning him against the wall of lockers as he bit and sucked at his lips. Potter grabbed his hips and slammed them together, arousal evident even through the sturdy leather trousers, grinding their slick bodies against each other, heat radiating from their skin.

"I don't need you Potter," Draco growled, scrambling single-handedly with the lace at his crotch.

Potter had the audacity to smirk. "Of course not," he purred, and Draco rewarded him with a particularly savage grab between his legs, making him cry out and buckle.

"You need _me_ though," Draco rasped, palming the cock under his fingers, tugging the leather around it further down to give him better access. "You need this."

Potter looked him in the eye and bit his lower lip. "Nah," he breathed, tilting his chin up defiantly. "I'm alright thanks."

Draco seized a fist full of black hair and re-claimed that lip, pressing his body down hard and jerking his wrist with more urgency as the feeling of dominance and power flooded his veins. "Fuck you Potter," he gasped, blinking away light-headedness. "You need me to remind you where you belong, you need me inside you so you feel whole."

He slammed his hands into Draco's chest suddenly, causing him to stumble back into the benches that ran along the centre aisle of the changing room. As Draco collapsed onto the seat, Potter slowly stalked towards him, throbbing cock straining to attention right at Draco's eye level. "Says who?" he asked softy.

"Says me," Draco grunted, yanking him the final foot closer and swallowing him down whole. This was power. No one else could take The Chosen One and bring him to his knees. There was no one else he would trust with his manhood when one, hard bite could ruin it all. This was Draco's, and only Draco's.

"You're just a cock-slut," Potter muttered between gasps, pulling at Draco's hair and guiding his head. "I have a hundred of you."

Draco rose his eyes to look up into Potter's; green and blown with lust. He trailed his tongue up his shaft, torturously slowly. "No you don't," he crowed. "No one else is good enough to fuck the great Harry Potter."

He licked his lips and tightened his grip on Draco's head. "Say my name again," he whispered.

Draco smirked. "What?" he asked innocently. _"Potter?"_ Potter's eyes rolled back into his head, and Draco wasted no time slipping his mouth back over his hot cock, hands kneading his arse as he undulated until his neck was sore and Potter was whimpering his name and pleading. _Come,_ he ordered silently picking up the pace again. _Come down my throat you fucker._

Potter obliged with a howl, and Draco drank every last drop dry, lapping up his spent cock like a dripping ice lolly on a hot day.

He barely gave Potter any grace time to recover before launching to his feet and shoving him back into the lockers with a clang. "Turn around," he snarled. Potter, ever the defiant little prick, took his time to obey. He bit on the tip of his thumb, eyes running up and down Draco's body, unabashed with his trousers around his thighs, cock still out and softening. "Now," Draco barked, earning himself a smirk as Potter finally did as he was told, placing his hands against the lockers by his shoulders with a sigh.

Draco ground his teeth as he pulled his wand from his boot, removing his remaining clothes with a flick and summoning his tube of lubricant from his bag at the other end of the room. Fingers slick, he dropped them between Potter's cheeks, pressing against his tender entrance. "You think you're the star?" Draco murmured dangerously low into the back of his neck as he pushed index and middle digits in together. "You think you're better than me? That you don't need me?"

He pulsed his hand back and forth, and Potter juddered, almost losing his purchase on the lockers. Draco had his other hand firmly on Potter's hip though and he held him steady, rubbing his hard, leaking cock against the soft skin of his backside.

"What was that?" he asked, jamming a third finger in, scissoring them slighting as he rammed in and out. "I can't hear you Potter?"

He grunted underneath him, and slammed his fists into the metal doors. "I need you, _fuck_ I need you Malfoy."

Draco grinned to himself. "See," he said, yanking his fingers out. "That was all I wanted."

Potter, the little whore, backed into him, so eager to get his cock inside him. But Draco smacked his arse and pushed him back against the wall, angling his dick up with the beautiful mess he'd made of his hole. "Please," moaned the other man.

"Good boy."

He forced himself inside with one determined thrust, and if Potter didn't wail loud enough to be heard in the bleachers. It was a good job the locker rooms were equipped with silencing charms, or Draco might have had to gag him like an animal.

Draco didn't bother to build up a pace, he was too desperate to come. As soon as he was fully in, he began to pound, his fingers digging into Potter's hips, his chest sliding against his back as his climax peeked. Potter looked over his shoulder, and fuck if Draco couldn't help but lean in and kiss him, claiming every inch of him that he could.

Potter pulled back just a fraction, his whole vision pouring through Draco's irises as the orgasm crested. _"Come for me Draco,"_ he breathed, his words barely audible as Draco broke apart, spilling himself inside The Boy Who Lived with one final blow, their bodies shuddering together as they slumped against the wall of metal doors.

After a time, Potter rose his head. "You still mad at me?" he asked playfully, squirming against Draco's length still inside him.

Draco grunted, suddenly exhausted. "Yes," he said into his neck.

Potter twisted, pulling them apart and quickly stripping his trousers and boots all the way off, before snaking his arms around Draco's waste and easing their bodies up against each other. "Can I apologise with a nice hot shower?" he questioned between soft kisses.

Draco sighed. No one had to suffer as much as he did with this idiot for a partner. "Fine," he acquiesced in defeat. "But we're using _my_ shower gel. You can practically smell the poverty coming off that shit you use."

Potter smiled coyly and began to walk them in the direction of the shower room. "Anything for you my love," he murmured.

End


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